THE EARL AND THE OTHERS
Miss Dolores Gantry shook the snow from her furs, and with the graceful
assurance of a yacht running aslant a craft-swarming harbor, cut into
the crowd that surged through the Union Station. She brought up in an
empty corner of the iron fence, close beside the exit gate through
which passengers were hurrying from the last train that had arrived.
Her velvety black eyes flashed an eager glance at the out-pouring
stream, perceived a Mackinaw jacket, and turned to make swift
comparison of the depot clock and the tiny bracelet watch on her
slender wrist.
As she again looked up she met the ardent gaze and ingratiating smile
of an elegant young man who was sauntering up the train-platform to the
exit gate, fastidiously apart from his fellow passengers. He raised his
hat, and at the girl's curt nod of recognition, hastened through the
gate for a more intimate greeting.
"My dear Dodie!" he exclaimed, reaching for her hand. "This is a most
delightful surprise."
"My dear Laffie!" she mocked, deftly slipping both slender hands into
her muff. "I quite agree as to it's being a surprise."
"Then you didn't come down to meet me?"
"You?" she asked, with an irony too fine drawn for his conceit. "Come
to meet you?"
"Yes. Didn't you get my note saying that all work on my bridge was
stopped by the cold and that I would run down to see you?"
"To see me--plus the world, the flesh, and the devil!"
"Now, Dodie!" he protested, with a smirk on his handsome, richly
colored face.
The girl's eyes hardened into black diamonds as she met his assured
gaze. "Mr. Brice-Ashton, you will hereafter kindly address me as 'Miss
Gantry.' You must be aware that I am now _out_."
"Oh, I've no objections, just so _we're_ not out," he punned.
She gave him her shoulder, and peered eagerly through the pickets of
the iron fence at a train that was backing into the station. Ashton
shrugged, lighted a gilt-tipped cigarette, and asked: "Permit me to
inquire, Miss Gon-tray, if I'm not the happy man for whom you wait, who
is?"
She replied without turning: "How can I tell until I see him? I think
it will be the hero. If not, it will be the earl."
"Hero?--earl?" repeated Ashton.
"Yes, whichever one Vievie leaves for me."
"What! Genevieve? Miss Leslie? She's not--Is she really coming home so
soon?--when she had such a chance for a gay season in London?"
"Don't give yourself away. The London season is in summer."
"You don't say! Well, in England, then. Why didn't you write me?"
"I'm not running a correspondence-school or news agency, Mr.
Brice-Ashton."
"Oh, cut it, Dodie! Post me up, that's a good girl! What I've heard has
been so muddled. This hero business, for a starter--what about it? I
thought it was an English duke that chartered the steamer to rescue
Genevieve."
"No, only the son of a duke,--James Scarbridge, the Right Honorable the
Earl of Avondale."
"My ante!"
"It's in the jack-pot, and as good as lost. What chance have you now to
win Genevieve,--with a real earl and a real hero in the field?"
"Earl _and_ hero? I thought he was the hero."
"That's one of the jokes on mamma. Earl Jimmy had nothing to do with
the rescue ships that Uncle Herbert cabled to search the Mozambique
coast. No; Jeems chartered a tramp steamer on his own account, to look
for friend Tommy. He found the heroic Thomas and, incidentally, the
fair Genevieve--who wasn't so _very_ fair after weeks of broiling in
that East African sun."
"It's wonderful--wonderful! To think that she alone of all aboard her
steamer should have survived shipwreck on that savage coast!"
"She didn't survive alone--she couldn't have. That's where Tommy came
in. There was another man, but he didn't count for much, I guess.
Vievie merely wrote that he died during the second cyclone."
"What an experience!--and for a girl like Genevieve!"
"She, of all girls!" chimed in Dolores enviously. "You remember she
never went in for sports of any kind, not even riding. And for her to
be flung out that way into the tropical jungles, among lions and
crocodiles and snakes and things! Why can't I ever have romantic
adventures?"
"You wouldn't give the man a chance to prove himself a hero," objected
Ashton. "You'd shoot the lions yourself."
"I _am_ good at archery. A bow and arrows, you know, were all that Mr.
Blake had."
"Blake?" repeated Ashton in rather a peculiar tone.
"Yes, Tommy the hero, otherwise Mr. Thomas Blake."
"Blake--Thomas Blake?" echoed Ashton.
"I--rather odd--I once--seems to me I once knew a man of that name. You
don't happen to know if he's a--that is, what his occupation is, do
you?"
Ashton was not the kind of man from whom is expected hesitancy of
speech. The girl spared him a swift glance from the out-flocking stream
of passengers. His fixed gaze and slack lower jaw betrayed even more
uneasiness than had his voice.
"Don't be afraid," she mocked. "He's not a minister; so he couldn't
marry her without help, and he's not done it since the rescue."
"Not done it?" repeated Ashton vaguely.
"No. According to mamma's letter, Earl Jimmy outgeneraled the
low-browed hero. At Aden he put Vievie on a P. and O. steamer, in the
charge of Lady Chetwynd. He and the hero followed in the tramp steamer
to England, where he kept friend Thomas at his daddy's ducal castle
until Vievie made mamma start home with her. You know mamma streaked it
for London, at Uncle Herbert's expense, the moment Vievie cabled from
Port Mozambique that she was safe. Uncle Herbert would have sent me,
too, but mamma wouldn't have it. Just like her! It was her first chance
to do England and crowd in on Vievie's noble friends. She said I might
spoil the good impression she hoped to make, because I'm too much of a
tomboy."
"But if it's your mother and Genevieve you're waiting for--I understood
you to say the earl and that man Blake."
"Oh, they followed on the next steamer. Mamma wired that they are all
coming on together from New York."
"Where's Mr. Leslie? Did he go to meet them?"
"He? You should know how busy Uncle Herbert always is. I called by his
office for him. He sent out word to go on. He would follow."
"What! after all Genevieve went through, all those hardships and
dangers? You'd think that even he--"
"Look I oh, look I there she is now!" cried the girl, pressing close
against the fence and waving her handkerchief between the pickets.
"Where? Yes, I see! beside your mother!" exclaimed Ashton, and he
lifted his hat on his cane.
The signals won them recognition from the approaching ladies, the
younger of whom responded with a quietly upraised hand. Beside her
walked a rosy-cheeked blonde young Englishman, while in front a big
square-built man thrust the crowd forward ahead of them. They were
followed by two maids, a valet, and two porters, with hand luggage.
As the party emerged from the gateway the younger lady leaned forward
and spoke in a clear soft voice: "Turn to the left, Tom."
The big man in the lead swerved out of the crowd and across the corner
past Miss Gantry, who was advancing with outstretched arms, her eyes
sparkling with joyous excitement.
"Vievie!" she half shrieked.
Blake glanced over his shoulder and stopped short at sight of the girls
locked in each other's arms. After a moment's fervent embrace, Dolores
thrust her cousin out at arm's-length and surveyed her from top to toe
with radiant eyes.
"Vievie! Vievie! I really can't believe it! To think you're home
again--when we never expected to see you--and you've got almost all the
tan off already!"
Genevieve looked up into the vivacious face of the younger girl with an
affectionate smile on her delicately curved lips and tears of joy in
her hazel eyes.
"It _is_ good to be home again, dear!" she murmured. She drew Dolores
about to face the big man, who stood looking on with rather a surly
expression, in his pale blue eyes. "Tom," she said, "this is my cousin,
Miss Gantry. Dolores, Mr. Blake."
"The hee-row!" sighed Dolores, clasping a hand dramatically on her
heart.
Blake's strong face lighted with a humorous smile. "Guess I've got to
own up to it, Miss Dolores. Anything Jenny--Miss Leslie--says goes."
As he spoke he raised his English steamer cap slightly and extended a
square powerful hand. Dolores entrusted her slender fingers to the
calloused palm, which closed upon them with utmost gentleness.
"Really, Mr. Blake!" she exclaimed, "I mean it. You _are_ a hero."
Blake's smile broadened, and as he released her hand, he glanced at her
mother, who had drawn a little apart with the Englishman. "Don't let me
shut out your mamma and Jimmy."
"Oh, mamma believes that any display of family affection is immodest,"
she replied. "But duty, you know--duty!"
She whirled about and impressed a loud salute upon the drooping jowl of
the stately Mrs. Gantry.
"Dolores!" admonished the dame. "When _will_ you remember you're no
longer a hoyden? Such impetuosity--and before his lordship!"
"Goodness! Is he really?" panted her daughter, surveying the Englishman
with candid curiosity.
"Is he really!" Mrs. Gantry was profoundly shocked. "If you weren't
out, I'd see that you had at least two more years in a finishing
school."
"Horrors! that certainly would finish me. But you forget yourself,
mamma. You keep his earlship waiting for his introduction."
The Englishman shot a humorous glance at Blake, and drew out his
monocle. He screwed it into his eye and stared blandly at the
irrepressible Miss Gantry, while her mother, with some effort, regained
a degree of composure. She bowed in a most formal manner.
"The Right Honorable the Earl of Avondale: I present my daughter."
The earl dropped his monocle, raised his cap, and bowed with unaffected
grace. Dolores nodded and caught his hand in her vigorous clasp.
"Glad to meet you," she said. "It's rare we meet a real live earl in
Chicago. Most of 'em are caught in New York, soon as they land."
"It's good of you to say it, Miss Gantry," he replied, tugging at the
tip of his little mustache. "I've been over before, you know. Came in
disguise. This time I was able to march through New York with colors
flying, thanks to your mother and Miss Leslie."
Dolores sent her glance flashing after his, and saw Genevieve
responding coldly to the effusive greeting of Ashton. The young man was
edging towards the earl. But Genevieve turned to introduce him first to
her companion.
"Mr. Blake, Mr. Brice-Ashton."
"I'm sure I'm--pleased to meet you, Mr. Blake," murmured Ashton, his
voice breaking slightly as Blake grasped his gloved hand in the bare
calloused palm.
"Any friend of Miss Jenny's!" responded Blake with hearty cordiality.
But as he released the other's hand, he muttered half to himself,
"Ashton?--Ashton? Haven't I met you before, somewhere?"
As Ashton hesitated over his reply, Genevieve spoke for him: "No doubt
it's the familiarity of the name, Tom. Mr. Brice-Ashton's father is Mr.
George Ashton, the financier."
"What! him?" exclaimed Blake. "But no. It's his face. I remember now.
Met him in your father's office."
"In father's office?"
"When I was acting as secretary for your father, Miss Genevieve,"
Ashton hastened to explain. "You remember, I was in your father's
office for a year. That was before I succeeded with my--plans for the
Michamac cantilever bridge and went to take charge of the construction
as resident engineer."
"Your plans?" muttered Blake incredulously.
"To be sure. I remember now," said Genevieve absently, and she turned
to look about, with a perplexed uptilting of her arched brows. "But,
Dolores, where is papa?"
"Coming--coming, Viviekins," reassured her cousin, breaking short an
animated conversation with the earl. "Don't worry, dear. He'll be along
in a few minutes."
Genevieve stepped forward beside Blake to peer at the crowd. Dolores
took pity on Ashton, who had edged around, eager for an introduction to
the titled stranger.
"Oh, your earlship," she remarked, "this, by the way, is Mr. Laffie
Brice-Ashton. I'd like to present him to you, but I'm afraid your Right
Honorableness wouldn't take him even as a gift if you knew him as well
as I do."
"Oh, now, Do--Miss Gon-tray!" protested Ashton.
The Englishman bowed formally and adjusted his monocle, oblivious of
the hand that Ashton had stripped of its glove.
"Your--your grace--I should say, your lordship," stammered Ashton,
hastily dropping his hand, "I'm extremely delighted--honored, I
mean--at the unexpected pleasure of meeting your lordship."
"Ah, really?" murmured his lordship.
"Mr. Brice-Ashton's father is one of our most eminent financiers,"
interposed Mrs. Gantry.
"Ah, really? What luck!" politely exclaimed the Englishman. He stepped
past the son of the eminent financier, to address Genevieve in an
impulsive, boyish tone, "I say, Miss Leslie, hop up on a suitcase
between Tom and me. You'll see over their heads."
"Hold on," said Blake, who was staring towards the outer door. "He's
coming now."
"Where? Are you sure, Tom?" asked Genevieve, here eyes radiant.
"Sure, I'm sure," said Blake. "Met your father _once_. That was enough
for me."
"Tom! You'll not-?"
"Enough for me to remember him," he explained with grim humor. "Don't
worry. I don't want a row any more than you do."
"Or than he will! He'll not forget that had it not been for you--"
"And Jimmy!"
"Chuck it, old man," put in Lord James. "Miss Leslie knows as well as
you do that one or more of the steamers chartered by her father must
certainly have sighted your signal flag within a fortnight. I merely
had the luck to be first."
"A lot of things can happen inside two weeks, down on the Mozambique
coast. Eh, Miss Jenny?" said Blake.
For the moment, forgetful even of her father, Genevieve clasped her
gloved hands and gazed upwards over the heads of the rushing multitude
at a vision of swampy lagoons, of palm clumps and tangled jungles, of
towering cliffs, and hot sand beaches, all aglare with the fierce
downbeat of the tropical sun.